There was a time in HallowShire, when OverLords ruled over the lands, spreading chaos and dread on the vulnerables' minds.

That was the time when , hidden from the darkest powers, people were claiming for a hero to save them. But fear and cowardice run trough their veins like poisonous blood.

One night, every year, the thirty-first of October, the power of evil rose from the gound like a miasma of soil and rage, slithering trough the forests, infecting places and persons, grasping its claws on hearts.

That night, people shut their doors and run from the darkness, hiding childrens and praying for their life to be safe.

It is not good to be in the open when dark rise. It is not good to be caught in the dusk hanging around like unaware souls. You'd better hasten to home, looking over your shoulder, counting your breaths and listening your heartbeats, cause wasting even one of them would spell the end of you.

Don't look in the eyes of gloom, don't dare to speak. The evil watchs over the lands, hunting for a spirit to devour.

And if in a night like that you see something sneaking on the ground and howling in pain, close your eyes and tighten your mind, cause the fool who surrenders to curiosity doesn't live to tell his story.

Now you know the truth that everyone knows and anyone says. Now you have been warned of the unspeakable reality.

Hide yourself, hide this story in the bottom of your heart, cause even the sound of a pulse can reveal yourself to the dread.

Move silently, like hash in the wind, and like the wind be without being.